Through Empty Eyes, The Hungry Soul
by danielradcliffesgf
Summary: After losing everything, 15yearold Sara Whittaker becomes a stowaway in the Winchester brothers' back seat. Who knows if they'll let her stay... R&R! :] A REVISED CHAPTER FOUR NOW UP!
1. The Creature

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the creature, Sara, The Check, Sara's family, and her lovely suitcase :)**  
**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**The Creature**

Sara's heart raced. Goose flesh had erupted on every inch of her skin, her frail body tucked up into a dark corner where, hopefully, no one would find her. It was still there; it was still upstairs. It was going to find her. Sara didn't know how it killed, but it had sharp teeth, perfect for eviscerating. She had no idea how she was going to escape, but she wasn't going to let herself die willingly. Sara knew that her demise would not be cooped up in a corner waiting for it to find her. She was much stronger than that.

Sara stood, the darkness still enveloping her, taking a baby step into the light. As she bit on her thumbnail, she felt her tooth break open the skin underneath the nail, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She could smell death all around her, the faded yellow tiled floor beneath her bare feet cold and ominous. Sara looked around feverishly, her breath coming out in short gasps around her thumbnail, still in her mouth. Her tousled brunette hair didn't give her the greatest look, but it's not like that really mattered now. She didn't know if her mother and father were dead, let alone her three-month-old baby sister Natalie. The last time Sara had seen her sister, she was fast asleep in her crib. Sara loved her little sister, and didn't know what she would do if anything happened to her baby sibling.

Her heart was thudding in her ears. Her brain was reluctant to take another step, but her body moved anyway. The perspiration on her feet made them sticky on the tile floor, and with every step it made the sound of a band-aid ripping off skin. Sara felt terribly alone, not really knowing why – her parents and her baby sister were just upstairs. Natalie hadn't made a sound she was obviously still sleeping.

A few more steps were taken when Sara felt carpet beneath her. She had made her way into the living room. Now she was able to see the stairs, where she had first seen **_it_**. It had crawled up the stairs with lightning fast speed, the leathery dark brown skin wrinkling when its body contorted different ways. Now it was in the upper part of the house, where Sara's parents were most likely fighting off the creature. They wouldn't let a stupid creature kill them, no way. Was the creature even real? She wanted to believe with all her might that this was a dream; it was just a figment of her imagination, but the sweat dripping from her forehead persuaded her differently. The sound of crashing glass upstairs let her know that she was living in reality – the glass had come from Natalie's room.

Sara impulsively took her thumb away from her lips and ran up the stairs, her hand resting on the guardrail as she always did when she went up those stairs – it was instinct. When the stairs ended, Sara was gazing right into her baby sister's room. The glass had been a snow globe belonging to her mother – she had placed it in Natalie's room for good luck. Natalie's crib was spattered with blood; she looked down and saw more on the tan carpet below the crib. The red trailed across the carpet and stopped in a corner. She saw a dainty and mutilated pile of flesh and blood on the floor. It was Natalie. She hadn't been sleeping.

She felt so nauseous at the sight in front of her she could barely think. But what she was about to see was worse. Her breath whistled in and out of her, her lungs getting that same piercing feeling right after you've run two miles. A sloshing sound hit her ears, another instinct set in – she looked over to the left, where the noise had come from. There she saw that same creature gorging on the flesh of her deceased parents. Sara whimpered, suddenly aware that she had drawn attention to herself. The creature turned its head to gaze upon Sara. The girl's eyes widened, she could feel the icy crimson eyes of the monster eating her parents upon her, ready to dig into her live skin. Shivers went up and down her spine, her brain deciding to quit on her. She couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the floor. They both gazed at one another for no more than thirty seconds, Sara's nightgown rustling against her calves, abruptly springing her back to life. That was when it jumped for her. Sara turned and ran down the steps with everything she was. She ran through the dining room, and into the kitchen, scrambling to remember to put one foot in front of the other or it would get her. It would eat her right up. Just like her parents and her baby sister.

Her chocolate eyes searched frantically for a weapon. This was a kitchen for Christ's sake. But in her rushed state, she forgot where her mother put the knives. So Sara went into the living room, where the fireplace was, and grabbed the iron rod her father would prod the fire with in the winter. Some of the soot on the end of the rod flew into the air as she hurled it up in front of her, in defense mode. Her throat was on fire, and as she sucked in air harshly, soot got into her throat and she began to cough loudly, the whooping sound ringing in her ears, she wasn't used to so much noise in an otherwise quiet house.

That was when she saw it come around the corner and begin to pounce for her. She glimpsed at the door on her right – no, she couldn't leave now, it had to die first, it needed to _die._

It ran at her like a freaked dog, pouncing and pouncing closer. It neared her enough to see the rod clutched in her pallid fingers, and stopped. Sara, not really knowing what she was doing, gritted her teeth and suddenly swung. It collided with the thing's head; Sara swore she heard the head crunch before it fell to the floor on its side. The teeth of the monster gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the window behind her. Its eyes had closed, and while it lay there Sara wondered if she should hit it again or if now was the time to go. She stepped closer to it, touching it slightly with her toe. Her breath was coming out in short gasps, the hair in front of her face waxing and waning with her erratic breathing. The skin was leathery and felt a bit scaly like a reptile's flesh, but much stranger. This time, Sara brought her foot back, and whammed it right into its stomach.

A searing pain exploded in her ankle. Sara cried out and peeked at her ankle, where she saw long fingernails, tinted yellow with age and dirt, digging into her skin. The blood was trickling and oozing down, the blood flow becoming more and more as its fingernails went deeper in her skin. She stood there, practically immobile from the pain. Sara couldn't take it any longer. Placing her other hand on the iron rod, she drove it right into the creature's temple, coming out the other side of its head, and into the floor. The grip on her ankle ceased and the nails resurfaced from her skin. Five moon shaped lacerations were now carved into her ankle, the fresh blood smell reaching her nostrils. Now she was aware of what she had to do.

All she knew was to grab everything and run. Just run.

She left the creature lying there, dropping the iron rod and going upstairs to gather some things. Sara still felt sheer terror in her stomach as she raced up each step, her whole body uncontrollably shaking. She turned right when she reached the top step, heading to her room. Sara didn't take the time to say goodbye to what was left of her family members as she crossed to the other side of the hallway, opening the door to her room and stepping in. The last time Sara was in her room her parents were alive and her sister was in a deep slumber in the crib… but she tried not to ponder those things as she went across the room to her closet. Inside was a suitcase in which Sara could pack her belongings. She reached her whole upper half into the closet, taking out the suitcase. As she pulled herself out, an out of place hanger scraped her hairline, striking blood. It ran down her forehead and her cheek, drying before it reached her jaw line. Her ankle throbbed from open wounds and then running on it, but she didn't care. Pain was nothing now. It was just a mere obstacle.

Sara opened the suitcase, taking clothes still on their hangers, and stuffed them into the suitcase. Then she grabbed a drawer from her dresser and emptied its contents – jeans and pajamas. Her earnings from years of collecting babysitting money and having summer jobs were in there also. It was stuffed full, but before Sara closed it, she grabbed a picture of the family and placed it neatly on top of the clothes. She snapped it shut, and walked out, making sure to grab a bobby pin to pin back her hair. Sara always despised hair in her face.

With the same speed as before, she left the house, clunking down the steps with her suitcase trailing behind her. At the bottom of the steps was the door, the door that would lead her to salvation. Sara was going to have to leave this behind. She stopped right in front of the door, reaching for the knob, and took a peek behind her. She needed to confirm it's deceased state. It was really dead. Green slime was seeping out of the wound, getting all over the carpet. Someone would come here and find it. Someone would find all of this mess. And someone would come looking for her. The question was: Where would she go?

Sara took her hand away from the doorknob; seizing the bobby pin she held in her other hand. A clump of her messy hair was dried in the blood, and she pulled it out to pin her hair up, the crackling sound of the peeling blood grotesquely hitting her ears. Then she grabbed the cool – almost deathly cool – bronze handle and turned. The door swung open, and the fresh, sweet smell of the summer night air hit her.

She filled her lungs with the warmth and comfort, even though she had only felt alone and cold for moments it seemed like too long. It was like someone protective was hugging her, making her feel loved and safe. The feeling soon ended when she heard echoes of intoxicated individuals down the street where a small restaurant stood. It had been there ever since the housing development was built, it was called The Checkerboard – the townsfolk nicknamed it The Check. Sara could see the two men, as drunk as the day is long, stumbling around outside the door to the restaurant. They both held whiskey bottles in their hand, looking at the plump woman with her hands on her hips standing at the door. She had a yellow dress on, knee-high, and a stark white apron tied around the waist and the neck. Her brown curly hair stood almost straight on her head, her hair had barely grown past her ears, and her pudgy lips were pursed and frowning. She didn't look too happy with them.

'Aww, c'muhh Beatrisss! Don't be like this! We promise to be goooo… Oof!' The man in the plaid shirt trailed off, falling right where he stood. The two men cackled like imbeciles. The man who fell burped obnoxiously and cackled. The woman shook her head, her golden name tag gleaming in the incandescent lights over the gas pumps, and wheeled around, walking inside.

That was when Sara saw it, a lone car in the parking lot of The Check. It was unattended – whoever was driving it was inside grabbing a bite. She scurried out of the house, closing the door behind her. Her baby blue suitcase was a vintage suitcase, made in the fifties or sixties, it used to belong her grandfather until he passed on. That suitcase was the only thing in her grandfather's will for Sara. She took it wherever she went – it had been to London and Thailand, and now it was with her to start a new life. Her heart was still thudding, she was not excited about running away, but as she drew closer to the glimmering black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, with a white stripe on each side, she felt safer. Still shaking, she yanked out her bobby pin and held it determinedly in her fingers. She crossed the street, walking down the dark path with the moon overhead, a light breeze keeping her hair out of her face.

When she was almost to the car, she stopped. 'Hey, pretty ladaaayy.' The other drunken man, in a tan shirt, called to her. The front of his shirt had a stain on it; Sara guessed it was from vomit. His drunken friend, who had fallen down moments ago, was asleep on a gas pump. The man in the tan shirt was probably too drunk to even realize that she was much too young for him, but she didn't care about that. She pointed with the bobby pin in the direction of the Impala.

'Is that your car?' It didn't come to her attention that her voice would be so shaky, but she tried to pin it off as nothing so the man wouldn't suspect anything was wrong.

'Why you all bloody? Dids you get in a ffffight?' His ghetto Texan accent fumbled as he tried to ask her questions, but she stayed adamant about hers.

'Is this _your car_?' Sara pointed more fiercely at it with the bobby pin.

'You're in your nighty sweetheart. I can get you out of it.' Sara rolled her eyes, crossing to the car and sticking her bobby pin in the lock to the trunk. 'You know, thaaat's breakin' and enterin'.' He said.

'Not unless it's your car.' She told him absentmindedly, twisting the bobby pin. She heard a click and the trunk opened. Sara lifted it just wide enough to get her trunk in and shut it. Before slipping the bobby pin back into her hair again, she unlocked the driver's side of the Impala. Making sure the drunken man wasn't going to reveal her hiding place, she glanced left and right, and got into the car. There was no way she was going to steal it – she climbed over the front seat and slipped into the darkness of the back, fitting herself snugly between the back and passenger's seat. Sara closed her eyes, quickly drifting into a dark, dreamless slumber.

Sara had yet to shed a tear.


	2. Stowaway

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Stowaway**

'Oh man, I think the food at that diner did somethin' to me.' Dean Winchester said to his little brother Sam. He set one hand on his stomach, adjusting in his seat, making sure to keep a hand on the steering wheel.

'Dean, you ate four triple patty cheeseburgers. I'm surprised you're not puking.' Sam said, looking out the window on his left. Then he turned his attention to his brother in the driver's seat beside him. 'Why did we even stop there anyway?'

'I had to do something to keep me awake, and eating food keeps me awake.' He replied.

'I don't understand why you don't just let me drive.' Sam said, looking down at his dark jeans.

'Never in a million years will I let you drive this car. _No one_ drives this car but me.'

That was one of the last things they said to each other until morning. Both brothers were exhausted; they had spent all day looking for a creature around the town but found bodies, or what was left of them, instead. The boys definitely had their fair share of flesh and blood for the week. The whole time in the car, Sam felt very uncomfortable in his seat. He kept readjusting his position, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use. He just let it slip into the back of his mind, leaning his elbow on the sill of the window, and resting his head on his fist.

Dean was tired of driving. He got sick of driving him and his baby brother around 24/7, but there was no way in hell he was going to let anyone else's grubby hands touch the steering wheel or sit in _his_ seat. It was sacrifices he had to make to keep a beautiful car beautiful. Dean didn't mind driving his brother around _all_ that much when he thought about it, it was a way to keep his eye on Sam. Dean knew that he was going to help Sam at all costs – it was his own life being taken he was most afraid of. He had to make the best of the short stay he had here on Earth with Sammy, soon he was going to be thrown in the pits of hell with every other demon they've gotten rid of, or kept down in the fiery depths. Dean knew when he arrived he was going to be the center of attention. He didn't know how they were going to torture him down there, they'd probably skin him or just stick with regular old whips and chains. Either way, he wasn't too anxious to see what they planned for him, but it was enough to know that his sacrifice was going to keep Sam alive and kickin'. That's all he wanted.

It just wasn't the same between the Winchester brothers ever since Dean had revealed his deal with the demon at the crossroads to Sam. Every time Sam looked at his brother, he knew that being dead was always better than making a deal with a demon and go to hell one year later. Sometimes he wished he was still dead, it was much better for Dean anyway. With his premonitions and Dean having to care for him all the time he was more of a burden than a brother. Sam knew Dean was strong; he would be able to get over his brother's demise and get on with his life. There were more hunters out there, people he could befriend. Dean didn't _need _his brother. Sam wanted to tell his brother every word of that, but Dean, being as stubborn as he was, wasn't going to listen to any of it. It would be no use telling him.

---

The sun was out now, shining brilliantly in the dew soaked air. It was around 6:45 AM, and both Sam and Dean wished they were fast asleep in a hotel bed, rather than stuck there in the car. Dean had to stay awake to drive, and there was no way Sam could fall asleep in his seat. Both were groggy and grumpy, ready to get some serious shut-eye.

Sam's stomach growled. 'Could we stop at a hotel,' He turned his head towards his brother, 'Please?' Now the brunette regretted not eating at that restaurant when he had the chance. Then again, watching Dean gobble those cheeseburgers was enough to make any strong-stomached person a little weak.

'Yeah,' Dean replied. 'I'm exhausted.' He yawned, spotting a sign on the side of the road that stated an old motel was up the road about 4 miles. 'Newly Renovated!' was scrawled across the bottom, but the sign appeared well aged, and Dean couldn't trust how 'newly renovated' it looked now.

They pulled into the parking lot of the motel, the boys opening the Impala's doors and stepping out at the same time. Dean's car door slammed first, and Sam's soon followed after stretching his legs. For some reason, his seat seemed to be really cramped. Now that he was using his legs, he felt better, but still famished and weary. 'Gimme the keys.' Sam said to Dean, holding up his hands in the I'm-ready-to-catch-it mode. Dean, not really caring why Sam needed his keys, threw them over to Sam, his throw slightly curving to the left. Sam grinned crookedly; his brother was so tired his throw was off. He had to reach a little ways to catch them, but held them tight in his hand as he walked to the trunk. Dean hadn't really noticed that every time they stopped at a hotel, Sam would check everything in the trunk – it was where they kept all the weapons they would need for hunting. It was just a little routine to see if everything was in order and nothing had been taken.

The tepid atmosphere of the summer gave a new meaning to the word lullaby. The calming breeze that swept through his hair and the saccharine smell of dew and fresh grass almost put him to sleep right then and there. The jingles of the Impala's keys were a rude wake up call as they almost slipped from Sam's clutch. He found the key that opened the lock to the trunk and stuck it in, twisted, and heard a _pop_ as the trunk opened. Sam removed the keys from the keyhole and placed them in his coat pocket. When he lifted the top of the trunk, he laid his eyes on something surprising.

Sam immediately went inside and grabbed hold of Dean. He had just finished paying for their room and grabbed the key. He dragged Dean over to the trunk and had him look at it.

'Whaddya think it is?' Dean asked, fixated upon the baby blue suitcase lying on top of all the weapons.

'A suitcase, Dean. It obviously belongs to someone. But how did it get in the trunk?' The question was meant to be rhetorical, but he heard Dean answer it anyway.

'Someone probably picked the lock.'

Sam turned to Dean, who was still looking at the suitcase. 'Maybe, but why would they want to put a suitcase in our trunk? Would there be something in it?'

Dean reached into the trunk, seizing the suitcase. 'Well, there's only one way to find out.' He unlatched the silver clasps and opened it. 'Wow. Clothes. How original. And a picture of a family of four. Cute.'

Sam had been a bit uneasy about unveiling what the suitcase had inside, but now that he knew it was just clothes and a picture, he went back to square one, why would it be there? Unless someone wanted to get rid of clothes and a picture of their family, he couldn't think of anything else.

'Whoa. Sammy look at this.' Dean said to his brother. He had zipped open a pocket on the inside of the lid, divulging over a thousand dollars in cash. It suddenly clicked to Sam. Someone was running away. Money, clothes, and a picture of their family – it was the perfect ingredients of a fast escape. But where were they? _She._ Sam rephrased. The picture had a mother holding a baby, a father, and a teenage daughter. _It's gotta be the teenager._ Teens were always running away. Sam went back to his question. Where was she? She certainly hadn't been in the car with them, they would have noticed… Sam stopped in the middle of his thought. His uncomfortable seat, the runaway teenage girl…

'Dean.' Sam was sucked back into reality, 'I think we might have a stowaway.'

Dean raised an eyebrow, grinning. 'What?'

'I think she might have been behind my seat this whole time. I think– I think she snuck in and hid when we were in the diner.'

'What…' Dean passed his brother and crossed to the back seat on the passenger's side. He opened the door with slight fury. Sure enough, a girl dressed in white was stuffed in between the front and back seat. Dean grabbed her by the back of her white clothing and dragged her out, making her land face first into the ground. Apparently, the girl, who they discovered was wearing a nightgown, had been sleeping, and didn't awake until colliding hard with the asphalt. Her small legs scrambled and, even with the bobby pin in her hair, her hair went into her face, making it hard to tell her appearance.

Dean grabbed and kept a good hold on the girl's nightgown as he pulled her up, noticing bloodstains across the hem of the gown. He stared at the dried blood strangely, heaving her harder upwards, making her stand up fully. Using his leg, he kicked the door behind her shut, slamming her back against the door of the car. The brothers crowded around her, her head down and her hair still lingering over her face. It was stringy and ratty, extremely messy and not taken care of. With his free hand, Dean pushed her chin up to meet eyes with him, even though he was a considerable amount taller than her. The brunette strings slid over her face and exposed her brown, tortured eyes. The flecks of dried out blood left on the side of her face were now being run over with new, warm blood trickling down her features yet again. The run in with the parking lot had opened the freshly scabbed wound, along with creating new ones, and they were now afresh, the lips of the abrasion on her hairline burning. It wasn't clean, pieces of rock were lodged into the skin, causing it to sting and ache. The eyeliner that had previously been on her eyes was smudged and her lips were chapped – they had cracked during her sleep and bled slightly.

'My God,' Dean said, looking absolutely disgusted with the girl standing in front of him. He eyed her over and over again; she looked totally defenseless and terrified.

'What happened to you?' Sam asked, astounded with the girl too.

The brunette opened her mouth once, licked her lips, and searched for words. She was unsuccessful. 'He asked you a question!' Dean spat, pushing her harder against the car door. No words were uttered from her lips.

'She's not gonna talk, Dean. I think you scared her.' Sam said in her defense.

'Or she's got something to hide.' Dean said plainly, not taking his eyes off of her, but letting her go.

'Dean, you go get us something to eat and I'll take care of her.' Sam told his brother, handing over the keys to Impala. Dean gave Sam the key to their motel room.

He took one last look at the girl and his brother before turning around, getting into the car and driving out. Sam faced the brunette standing beside him, putting his hands on her shoulders, and bending down to her eye level. Sam tried to look her in the eyes, but she refused to keep eye contact. 'My name is Sam. The guy who pulled you out of the car is my older brother Dean. He only hurt you as a…' He rummaged through his brain for the right word, 'Precaution. Why were you in his car?'

Nothing.

'Are you frightened?'

Silence.

Sam sighed, looking around. 'Well you can come to my room and clean up.'

The girl wasn't moving. Her hair was moving along with her breaths coming out her nostrils, but she showed no truly healthy functions as of now. 'I would ask if you were okay, but you wouldn't answer me.' He said, walking her to his room. On the way there, he noticed her limping. Sam glanced at both of her feet, seeing one of her ankles blood-soaked. The blood was old by now, but the gashes looked fresh and irritated.

They didn't walk for a long time, it was only a few moments until Sam had unlocked the door to their motel room and walked into the dusty atmosphere in which most old motels possessed. It smelled like old perfume and cigarettes, but Sam had stayed in much worse, along with much better, rooms. The two beds to the left of him posed a bit problem. There was no way Dean would want to sleep with the freak that showed up in his car, so Sam was going to either have to get a cot for her to sleep on, or she was going to sleep in his bed with him – considering if she was even going to stay with them that long.

Sam walked to the other side of the room, where there was a door leading to the bathroom. 'The bathroom's this way,' Without a word, she passed him, walking into the bathroom. She didn't close the door behind her; she just walked right over to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Sam surveyed her as she stared at herself, her dainty fingers reaching up and touching her face. She looked appalled with her reflection. All she did was stand there, touching the same part of her face, gazing into her own eyes through the mirror. Sam knew she wasn't stable enough to wash up by herself. He grabbed a washcloth, provided by the hotel, and ran it under lukewarm water. He brought her over to the tub and sat her down on the edge, pulling a chair from the corner of the room and sitting across from her.

He entwined he washcloth between his fingers to obtain a better hold, and looked at the girl. Sam wished he knew her name; it would make it a whole lot easier to get acquainted with this stranger. He had to admit, she intrigued him. This girl had enough audacity to climb into an unknown car and try to run away from her family. He wondered where she had come from. They hadn't stopped all night until that diner by the suburbs, but the girl could live miles down from the diner. The poor girl looked beaten and worn, her eyes held an abyss of hurt and suffering, which intrigued Sam even further. How long would she stay? Would it be for a while? Would it be only today? Sam didn't know. If Dean were to kick her out, where would she go? That was another question Sam couldn't answer, but he knew that there were miles of road that stretched beyond here and this motel, and he was positive she wouldn't survive, especially in her frail condition. But if she were to stay any longer she might found out their secret. Well, she might find out _one_ of their secrets, and Sam didn't think she was ready to hear that kind of information until she was better.

She still would not look him straight in the eyes. Her dirty strings of hair hung over her face like sheens of protection so others would not see the anguish carved into her pupils. He placed his hand holding the washcloth under her chin and raised it up so she would look at him. With his other hand he gently pushed back her hair, revealing her beaten features once more. Her hair had gotten into the crimson liquid on the side of her face and was almost sopping with it. Sam removed his hand from underneath her chin, and astoundingly she did not move her head back down. The girl locked eyes with Sam as he began to dab the blood that had made its way down, almost to her jaw line. 'Alright,' Sam started, taking the washcloth off the blood. 'You gotta tell me your name.'

And for the first time, Sam had heard the girl's cold, harsh, menacing voice. With the one syllable word she uttered, she sent shudders snaking up his spine. 'Sara.'


	3. Confrontations With Guns

**Disclaimer:** For the Bunyip, I own nothing but its appearance and how it kills :)

**CHAPTER THREE **

**Confrontations… With Guns**

Sam stared at her for a moment, waiting for his shivers to dissolve, and brought his hand back up to continue dabbing the blood. 'Where are your parents, Sara?' He tried to sound unfazed from his latest spooking, but it failed.

Sara took her eyes off Sam, looking down at the white linoleum floor, and then back up at him. 'I… I think they're dead.'

'Whoa, you _think_? Sara, you can't _think_ their dead.'

She softly cleared her throat, and winced from the pain. 'There was this thing… I was just going downstairs for a drink… Oh God, Natalie!' She could no longer look him in the eyes. Heck, she didn't even know what she was feeling anymore. It could be anger, pain, horribly aching sadness, happy that _someone_ cared, or maybe all of those combined.

'Who's Natalie? Is that your mom?'

'No, no. She's my baby sister… She _was_.'

Sam began to think this was something supernatural. 'Sara, you're safe now; you don't have to be scared. Just tell me everything that happened.'

Sara nodded, looking him in the eyes again. 'I woke up in the middle of the night and went downstairs to get a drink. Someone… some_thing_ came in through the front door. I heard it. So I look around the corner and I see… _it_.'

'Is it a creature?'

She nodded again.

'Can you explain it to me?'

'It had leathery, kind of scaly skin… but it was different. _Stranger_. The sharp teeth-' Sara recalled how they shined in the moonlight. 'And the long fingernails-' The remembrance of the sound of them punching into her ankle gave her goose flesh. Her breath became shaky again, 'I hear a crash. I climb the stairs. My baby sister is… oh God I don't even know. He gutted her, and left her mutilated body there.' She locked glances with Sam. His blue-green eyes were so caring and lovely; Sara wished she were as happy as his eyes made him appear. 'And I turn, to my left. He's eating my parents. The he jumps for me and chases me downstairs. I grab an iron rod and hit him over the head, and kick him. He hurts my ankle.' Sara pointed down towards her ankle with her long index finger.

'So that's how your ankle got hurt?'

'Mhm.' She told him, concurring. 'He dug each fingernail into my skin at the same time. So, I… I… take the iron rod and drive it into his temple. Last thing I know I have all my things packed and I've opened the door. That's when I saw your car.'

'How did you pick the lock?'

'With this,' Sara indicated the bobby pin in her hair.

'Don't you have grandparents or aunts to live with?' He asked. She looked into his eyes once more, his every word was genuine and he really cared. Sara always wanted a big brother like that, or even a little brother, but unfortunately that could never happen now.

Sara shook her head. 'Both my parents were only children. My mother's parents died in a wreck. My father's mother died in a fire – she was a schoolteacher and some kids smoking cigarettes lit the school on fire. His father died of old age.' She laughed nervously, not liking the sound that came out of her mouth. The laugh was phony; she was trying to cover up her loneliness. 'I guess my family's parents have a knack for dying.'

Sam had stopped dabbing sometime during Sara's story, but started up again. His hands were smooth and firm, and as he got closer and closer where the wound was, it hurt worse. She tried to pretend like he wasn't hurting her, but it was very irritated. When Sam reached the lips of the laceration, he dabbed once, and immediately her head was on fire. She hissed, and Sam stopped. 'Sorry, am I hurting you?'

'Uh, it's not your fault,' She gulped, cringing. 'I think there might be rocks in it.'

That was when they heard the rumble of the Impala come closer and closer until it stopped all together. The door of the motel opened, 'Sammy!'

Sam dropped the washcloth, left Sara there in the bathroom, and went out into the main room to see Dean carrying a brown paper bag – that had the food – and a gun from the trunk of the Impala. Sam knew that gun. It shot iron bullets. Dean started heading for the bathroom, but Sam grabbed his arm and stopped him, asking, 'What's the gun for?'

'It's all over the news. There's a family of four living out in the suburbs, three are found mutilated, all that's left is their skin. The fourth member is mysteriously missing with all their clothes gone? Sounds very suspicious to me, Sammy.' He yanked his arm from Sam's grasp and cocked the gun, walking into the bathroom. Sam followed.

Dean pointed the gun fiercely in Sara's face. She retaliated, losing her seat on the edge of the tub, slipping and falling into it. The back of her head smacked the wall, but she seemed unfazed. 'Dean, _what_ are you doing?' Sam tried to pull Dean back from Sara, but he stood his ground. Her eyes had widened, and she was looking up at Sam for help.

'Hold on, Sara, he doesn't know the story yet.'

'So this thing has a name?'

'She's not one of them, Dean. Have you ever heard of a Bunyip changing into a human?'

'What?' Sara asked frantically, looking at Sam and then Dean.

'I'll explain later.' Sam said to Sara, turning to Dean. 'One got into her house and ate her family. This one seemed to eviscerate every one of them. She put an iron rod in its head and got away.'

Dean laughed. 'Nice.'

Sara looked at him funny. 'Is he bipolar?'

Dean shot her a nasty look and kept the gun pointed at her. 'And that explains why they didn't say anything about an unidentified creature.'

'What happened to it?' Sara asked.

'When you kill a Bunyip, you have to kill it with iron. The gun Dean's holding is filled with iron bullets. After the Bunyip's killed, it… dissolves. Even if it bleeds, all that's left behind are the people it ate. At your house, it just looks like a misplaced iron rod.

Dean lowered the gun and got close to his brother, dropping his voice low enough so Sara wouldn't hear. 'So how'd you get her to talk?'

'I didn't hold a gun to her head.' Sam said plainly, walking over to Sara and helping her out of the bathtub. He led Sara to the main room and told her to get on the bed closest to the bathroom. She placed her back against the wall, sitting on the pillow. Sam got on the edge of the bed after wetting the washcloth again and turning on the television. Dean had the remote while Sam began to clean up the gashes on Sara's ankle. Sara watched the television intently as Dean flipped through the channels; he was sitting lazily on the other bed. He stopped on a local new station. A woman was giving them the latest news:

'…the Federal Bureau of Investigation has no comment. Onto breaking news, a local suburb is the gossip of the town when Mary Anne, Ralph, and Natalie Whittaker are found marred in their home. The local police think this is the work of a rabid dog that has stalked this town for some time. Their teenage daughter Sara was nowhere to be found. They think she was kidnapped, and is now presumed dead.'

'Hey, you made headlines!' Dean exclaimed, a Twinkie shoved in his mouth, pointing at the television with the remote and looking over at Sara.

Sam shook his head silently keeping his attention on Sara's ankle. All Sara did was look down at her nightgown, playing with the bloodstained hem. 'Go get her suitcase, she needs clothes.'

Dean rolled his eyes and got off the bed, walking outside to get her suitcase.

'Is he always like that?'

Sam sighed, working on cleaning up her ankle. Dean could definitely be that way, a lot. 'You just have to learn to deal with it.'

An elongated silence fell over the two. The television filled the silence. Sara spoke up, 'Sam?'

'Yeah.'

'What killed my family?'

Sam stopped working on her ankle and looked up at Sara. 'It's called a Bunyip. Its story origin is Australia, and recently it's been terrorizing families around your area. Normally Bunyips prey on animals, women, and children, but recently it's been taking older men as well. Dean and I are thinking we have a new type of species.'

'You said story origin. Is this… folklore?'

Sam sat up. 'Yes, but it's very real. You say you saw the Bunyip?'

Sara nodded.

'Did it have flippers?'

She shook her head.

'Tusks or a tail?'

She made the same gesture.

'Was there hair anywhere on it?'

'No, the skin was like a snake.'

'No feathers or fur?' Sam saw her shake her head. 'Did it have an abnormal head, like a bird or horse head?'

'No, it was round like a human.'

'How about a long neck?'

She thought a moment. 'Yes. And red eyes.'

'Did it make a sound when you got close to it?'

'I didn't get that close to it. The closest was about twenty feet. It always came up to me.'

He nodded. 'Okay. Stay here, I'll be right outside.' Sam stood from the bed and began to walk away, just about to the door until Sara interrupted him.

'Wait!'

He turned around.

'How do you know all this stuff? Why do you guys have strange guns?' Sara paused; she was reluctant to ask the next question, 'Are you guys murderers?'

Sam couldn't answer her questions. Not right now anyway. If she was going to stay here one night he would try to think of another explanation, or no explanation at all – he couldn't have her running off and telling everyone what they do. The police were already chasing the brothers; they didn't need the funny farm doing the same. All he could think of was to turn around and go outside to tell Dean the information he got from Sara.

Sara didn't know what to think at this point. She was just sitting there in the bed, totally perplexed at all that's happened in the past few hours. Just a little while ago she was lying in her bed, fast asleep. Sara would rather be dead than where she was right now. She knew for a fact that she didn't like Dean but Sam was all right. He was a little too clingy, even though his eyes brought her a few seconds of peace. She could do everything just fine on her own, thank you. Even though this wasn't her favorite place right now, it was her only place. Without these weird brothers she had hotels and food temporarily, but after her money was gone, she had dumpsters as her home. Without crazy Dean and clingy Sam, she had scraps as food. Without them, she had nothing. But there was no way in hell she was going to stay with these two forever. Something was going on between the two, something bigger than she could wrap her mind around, and she really didn't want to get in the mix of it.

How had Dean gotten that gun? It looked really expensive, and iron bullets were probably not that cheap. What if they were murderers? Then Sara knew she was in a dilemma. But Sam didn't seem like the murdering type – at all. Sam looked like the type who would throw up a hundred times before murdering anyone. Sara hoped that was true. It didn't matter if she were killed anyway; everyone thought she was dead.

---

As Sam shut the door behind him, guilt piled onto him. Sara was a good person, he should be able to trust her, but from a life of hunting he learned you couldn't always trust a damsel in distress. Then a question hit him, why had Dean taken so long? All he had to do was grab a suitcase out of the trunk and come back inside. As Sam neared the trunk, he saw Dean had opened the blue suitcase and was looking through Sara's money. 'Dean! What are you doing? That's Sara's money!' Sam called to his brother.

Dean obviously hadn't noticed Sam was coming, but he didn't try to hide the fact that he was looking at the money. 'Do you know how much green is here? Over a thousands bucks! We could use this cash Sammy.'

'It's not ours. Put it back.'

Dean looked at his brother pleadingly, Sam returning a hard expression. Dean sighed, giving in, 'Fine!'

'I can't believe you were about to steal money from a teenage girl who just lost her family.'

'Wait, so tell me what happened.' Dean told his brother, stuffing the money back into the suitcase. Sam explained the story to his brother while walking back to the motel room. Dean would nod his head every once in awhile, and once Sam was finished, Dean spoke up, 'Sounds like one of 'em.'

Sam opened the door to the motel, the noises of the television flooding outside. He looked over at the bed Sara had been sitting on when he left, and saw her, back facing them, sleeping.

'She's got the right idea.' Dean said, plopping down on his bed and turning over on his side after placing the suitcase on the table where the TV sat.

Sam laid down beside Sara, a girl he barely knew, and turned the opposite way, closing his eyes.

**A/N:** I'm sorry this is such a boring chapter. Every story's gotta have one ;) The next one will be more exciting, I promise!


	4. Hunting

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Hunting**

Sara's eyes opened slowly. At first she didn't recognize where she was, and that was when the memories of the last day piled into her brain. They hit her hard, almost winding her fully. She breathed in unexpectedly, staring up at the ceiling. When she breathed out, she turned her head to see Sam sleeping beside her – obviously the boys couldn't sleep in the same bed together, they had to make their guest sleep with someone of the opposite sex. Sara had no recollection of ever sleeping with a boy before, except for her father when she was a toddler. It was a bit awkward, she barely knew this man and she wakes up next to him, like she had just had a drunken night. Was it the next day? She knew all three of them needed some serious sleep, but could they sleep through a whole day? Sara looked over Sam to the nightstand beside the bed, it said 8:36, and the sun was still shining brightly. Then she had only slept about an hour. But she felt very well rested. The TV in front of the bed was still on, the channel stopped on a news broadcast. The man sitting at the news desk said the date, following, 'Thanks for joining us at 8:36 on this…' Sara gaped at the television. They had all slept a day.

She sat up on the side of the bed, her back facing the boys, realizing her and Sam slept without any sheets pulled over them. Normally, Sara would wake up during the night, freezing, but now that she thought about it, she was burning up. Her hand lightly touched her forehead, suddenly recoiling. She had a fever – but she felt totally normal, except for the fact she was sweating. So she decided to take a cold shower. That would cool her down.

Standing up, she tried not to disturb Sam, and walked into the bathroom. The cold of the linoleum floor felt so great against her feet, she was half-tempted to lie down right there and get all the cold into her she could. But she crossed over to the shower, and turned the water on to a moderate temperature, more on the chilly side. She undressed, throwing her nightgown absentmindedly over to the side of the room. Sara was done with that nightgown, it reminded her of too many things, and it was also too bloodstained to fully recover.

She stepped in, closing the shower curtain, feeling the cold droplets of water cool off her burning skin. The beads rolled off her, but made her feel so much better. The voice of Dean flooded into the bathroom – he had woken up. His footsteps slapping on the floor stopped close to the shower, but stopped, and through the shower curtain, she could see his shadow standing at the mirror.

By the time she had finished, Dean had walked out, and Sam's voice was audible from the main room – he had woken up too. She turned the water off, and put a towel on that had been draped over a bar on a wall right of the shower. The brothers had been carrying on a conversation before she walked out of the bathroom, and when she went to them to ask where the suitcase was they immediately stopped talking. 'Where did you put the suitcase?'

'By the door,' Dean said to her plainly, turning his attention to Sara.

'Thanks.' She said, noticing the suitcase had been placed there. Grabbing it and carrying it into the bathroom, she closed the door, and the two brothers began arguing again.

---

'Sam you know she can't stay with us!' Dean retorted to his unbelievably stubborn brother. They were both trying to be quiet, speaking in low voices so Sara wouldn't hear.

'There's no way she can fend for herself out there! It'll only be a little while, and then we can call Child Services.'

'No, Sam! How are we supposed to do this? I don't want to have to drag her around to every hunt.'

'Of course she can't come hunting.' Sam trailed off; he knew he was about to get a lecture.

'She's what, 14? That's-'

Sara, coming out of the bathroom fully dressed with the bobby pin in her hair of course, and her hands on her hips, interrupted Dean. 'Actually, I'm 15, and I've been out hunting with my father before.' She looked at the boys for a moment, 'These walls are incredibly thin.'

They both paused, astounded. Sam piped up, 'Wait, so you've been hunting?'

'Yeah. My dad let me use his gun once – I shot a deer.'

They both breathed little sighs of relief. 'You want to go hunting with us?' Dean asked. He decided that if she saw the things they did, she wouldn't want to stick around.

'Dean, no…' Sam tried to say, catching onto Dean's thought immediately, but Sara instantly responded.

'Sounds good to me.'

'Great.' Dean grinned.

Sam was uneasy. Sara wasn't ready to see more creatures and supernatural things. Dean didn't know what he was getting her into. He knew she was going to find out if she stayed with them as long as he planned, but now was too soon. A fib to Dean about her stay wasn't harmful; he would probably take action and kick her out of their lives sooner than Sam had considered, but for now Sam would make him believe it would only be for a little while longer.

Dean leaned close to Sam and dropped his tone, 'A town over, there's an old mansion and people swear they've been seeing things and hearing strange noises. Ellen called me before we went to the diner.' Ever since the roadhouse burned down Ellen had been staying incognito in Portland. She still knew every sighting of ghosts or demons, and she still had connections that landed them with jobs. Nothing ever stopped that woman.

'Sara, have you ever heard anything about the big mansion a town over?' Sam asked her.

'Er…' She paused, continuing, 'Oh yeah. The Klein mansion in Huebury. The kids at my school used to say it was haunted.' She took her hands off her hips and crossed her arms, giving Sam an incredulous look. 'Why? What does that have to do with anything?'

'We were just wondering if we could stop by the house and take a look around.'

'What are you? Ghostbusters or something?'

'No, we want to freak you out.' Dean said, going outside.

'Get your things, we're leaving.' Sam instructed, exiting right after Dean.

Sara said nothing, and went into the bathroom to get her suitcase, along with her nightgown, which she stuffed into the suitcase and closed it, going to the car.

They were both in the Impala, bickering, by the time she opened the back door and got in, setting her baby blue suitcase on the floor. They quieted once she stepped in and closed the door behind her. She took a seat in the middle and leaned forward, putting her arms on the front seat in between the brothers. 'So do you guys have like, no home or something? You seem like you stay in hotels a lot.' The two stayed quiet. 'Oh… kay…' Sara sat back in her seat and closed her mouth.

---

A half and hour later, no one having said a word to each other since Sara spoke, she began to get bored with staring out the window. They were in Huebury, but the Klein mansion was still ten minutes away. She adjusted to the same position as she had before and looked over at Sam. 'Do you have any music to play? There's this great radio station-' Sara cut herself off and shoved her whole body forward, her torso in the front seat, her arm reaching to adjust the knobs of the radio.

Dean took action. 'Can't you just shut up and sit back? We're almost there.' He told her sternly, pushing her backwards harshly into the back seat again. She landed with a _thump_.

Sam didn't say a word; he just glared out the window.

Sara gritted her teeth, her mouth closed, and crossed her arms, huffing out her nose, turning her head to stare out the window. How _dare_ he speak to her like that! She was emotionally scarred, and he was treating her this way? Sara knew she couldn't hold that against him forever, but she was going to milk it as long as she could. 'You know what your problem is?' Sara suddenly blurted out, putting her hands on the front seat and pulling herself forward. 'You're _way_ too anal about everything! It's no wonder Sam hates you so much!'

Sam turned his head to Sara, '_What_ are you talking about?'

Sara acted like he hadn't even said anything. 'Maybe you should get your head pulled out of your ass and learn to respect the people around you! They won't be around forever!'

Dean stared straight ahead at the road, pretending like she hadn't spoken at all. Unbeknownst to her, he knew she was right.

She sat back again. 'Oh my _God_!'

No one said anything else until they reached the Klein mansion. And once they arrived, Sara only expected they would look around the outside and then go hunting, although now she noticed that neither one of the brothers were wearing any hunting gear or camouflage clothing. The boys stared out the front window intently. Sara was the first to get out of the Impala. The sun wasn't out anymore; grayish clouds that covered the sun blocked it. The brothers stepped out after her, all three of them gaping at the mansion.

The Klein mansion stood proud and tall, its peak addition seemingly reaching the bottom of the clouds. Its gray paint and purple shudders frightened Sara, the boarded up windows giving the look of forbidden wonderment. There was a sign they passed on the long driveway stated there was absolutely no trespassing, but no one seemed to take notice to it but her. Sara did not say a word about it; she knew Dean was going to blow up if she opened her mouth.

They all just stood there, looking up at the house before them. But Sara was tired of waiting and started walking. Before she could pass Dean though, he grabbed her shirt and pulled her backwards, starting to walk towards the house himself. He obviously didn't want her getting close before he could. Dean, Sam following him and Sara following Sam, walked up the porch and to the door, which had also been secured. 'You know,' She started matter-of-factly, 'When a door's boarded up, it means they _don't_ want you going inside.'

Dean turned his head slowly to look straight at Sara. He looked like he was trying to be politely angry with her, and through grinding teeth he said, 'Thanks.' And turned back around.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder roughly; bringing his ear closer, 'Dean,' His voice was almost a whisper, 'I'll make her leave… just don't force her to see this. It'll scare her.'

'You know that's the whole point.' Dean told his brother with a smile, turning from the door and walking around the porch that lined the downstairs of the house.

The two followed suit behind Dean, not really knowing where he was going. All the windows were boarded up, making it impossible for them to enter. They just rounded and rounded the house until they reached the entrance to the porch, where Dean walked down the steps and began to walk around to the back of the house. When Sam went down the steps, Sara jumped in front of him, causing him to stop, 'What is he doing?'

'Finding a way in.' Sam told her, passing Sara and disappearing behind the house.

Sara didn't know what was so important about getting in anyway. They all had a very good look from the outside. She could tell that they were hiding something from her, but she went along for the ride anyway. There was nothing wrong with a little surprise. As she walked around the house, she saw the two boys trying desperately to open the lock on cellar suicide doors. She stood a few feet away from them, chuckling; her arms crossed, and watched their pathetic attempts. Dean had a shovel, she wasn't sure where he got it, and was banging the lock with the shovel's head, and Sam was simply tugging on it in the intervals between Dean's smashing.

They both noticed she was there and stopped. 'Do you think you have a better way?' Dean asked her, wiping his brow with his arm. He slammed the head of the shovel down into the dirt and rested his arm on it, staring at Sara.

'I _know_ I have a better way.' She said confidently, going over to the door, crouching down beside the lock, and pulling the bobby pin out of her hair. She put the bobby pin into the lock and begins to show the boys that girls aren't all fingernail polish and braiding each other's hair. Suddenly, she heard a _snap_ and the lock burst open. Sara stood, satisfied with herself, and looked over at the boys, sliding the bobby pin back into her hair. Dean didn't say anything, but crossed over to the suicide doors and opened them, the creaking sound that they produced echoing through the basement of the house. The opened doors didn't seem to lead to anything, it was pitch black for as long as the three could see.

'We need to go get some stuff from the car.' Sam told her.

'Do _not_ go inside.' Dean sternly finished, turning away from her. Sam followed Dean back to the car.

Sara rolled her eyes when they were out of sight. She was big enough to care for herself; she certainly didn't need two boys to do that for her. The two could probably barely keep good health. Sara glanced over where she had last seen the boys, and then at the darkness just down those few steps.

---

As the car neared the two, Sam picked up his stride to keep up with his older brother, 'Are you sure you want to scare a 15 year old out of her wits like this?' Sam had to keep checking – he knew he couldn't stop Dean anyway; it was just a few reassurances to know that his brother was actually that crazy.

'Yeah well, three's a crowd.' Dean told his brother, reaching the car and going to the trunk.

'What if she dies in there?'

'If she dies, then she dies.' Dean opened the trunk and began rummaging through it for things they would need in this hunt.

Sam didn't know what to say to his brother. 'Why do you have to be so stubborn? This isn't fair to her, she has no idea what she's getting into!'

'Yeah,' Dean started, grabbing two flashlights, 'Well that's her problem.' He handed a salt gun to Sam and took one for himself.

Sam sighed, 'Ass…'

'Bit-' Dean began, but he didn't finish, for all of a sudden a piercing and utterly terrified scream that rang in the boy's ears interrupted him.

'Sara,' Sam said horrifically, sprinting around the house to the cellar doors. Dean rolled his eyes and walked quickly behind his brother.

When he reached them, he saw they were shut, and the lock was back on the handles. 'Damnit!' Sam yelled, tugging on the handles with all his might. They wouldn't open up. But there was enough leeway on the lock that the doors opened ever so slightly, creating a small crevice. That was when Sam got an idea, and he knew he needed to act quickly. Taking the shovel stuck in the ground and setting his flashlight and gun down, he heaved the doors up to create the crack, in which he stuck the head of the shovel. The handle was sticking up, and Sam pushed on it with all his weight, thrusting the doors upward. Creaking sounds exploded from the doors, and soon a loud _whack_. That sound was that of the lock giving in and breaking. The doors flew open.

Dean turned the corner to the house and saw Sam setting the shovel down and grabbing his flashlight and gun lying on the ground. 'I thought you'd be in by now.'

Sam looked at his brother; he hadn't noticed Dean had come around the corner. 'The doors were locked again.' he turned on his flashlight, clenching it in his fist. He took his gun in the other hand and set it on top of his fist holding the flashlight. 'Let's do it,' Sam said determinedly to Dean, turning to the stairs and stepping down them cautiously, keeping his gun up and his flashlight pointed in front of him. Dean mimicked the position and walked towards the steps.

The two went down each step tentatively, on full alert for anything that they could hear, smell, or feel.

Immediately the two were cold, the chilly atmosphere bringing their fingers closer to the triggers of their guns. Something was in the room with them they could feel it. The light from the outside gave them some direction, but it was soon cut-off as the doors slammed shut. Dean walked back to the doors and pushed up on them, 'They're locked.' he said to his brother, who was somewhere in the darkness. He searched for him with his flashlight, finding him staring straight at him about 10 feet away. Sam's eyes squinted, and his hand went in front of his face.

'Get that light outta my eyes!' he complained to his brother. Dean took the flashlight from Sammy, stepping closer to him and taking the same position as before. In the path of both their lights, something flew past, but was gone in a second. Shooting sounds were heard around the house as the brothers fired their salt guns blankly into the dark.

---

Her eyes opened hesitantly, for fear of what she would see. All of the thoughts she had before she passed out rushed back to her, and she scrambled to get up but her legs were like jelly and she failed to stand, remembering what she had seen and what she had felt before everything went murky. It was unexplainable – what her schoolmates had said were true, this place was so dreadfully haunted.

That was when she heard gunshots. Ghosts _and_ gunshots? This had to be some sort of sick joke. Whatever Dean and Sam had planned was really freaking her out. She didn't even know where she was it was pitch black. She had to rely on her hearing to make her way around. Sara winced at the pain in her thigh; she had cut it when coming inside. The blood was now somewhat dry, acting as a protection for the fresh wound, but it still hurt like hell.

What Sara had seen was odd – there was a flash of light, and something was coming at her, face crawling with maggots and the dead gray flesh sickly peeling off. There was no hair, the thing was completely bald, and the raggedy clothes it wore were just as old as it. That image, and that smell, the horrible smell, kept repeating itself over and over again in her mind, she couldn't get it out, and it was now stained into her mentality.

The gunshots suddenly stopped, leaving silence to fill the void. Sara breath came out quicker and quicker, and a tickling sensation erupted on the back of her neck. It was here. It was back. _Okay, just don't freak out Sara; keep your wits about yourself. Isn't that what your father told you? If you get scared, you're dead. Keep your wits about you, keep your wits about you, keep your wits…_ She told herself over and over, shutting her eyes tightly. Sara kept backing herself up until she hit a wall, which wasn't too far away, her eyes still shut. Her legs pressed up against her torso, and her arms hugging her legs, her face buried into her legs, she whispered louder and louder, 'Keep your wits about you, keep your wits about you, keep your wits about you, KEEP YOUR WITS ABOUT YOU GODDAMMIT!' she screamed.

Her curiosity built until it was to the brim when she was outside, why hadn't she just listened to her conscience and not gone in? She just _had_ to keep going, even when the doors slammed behind her. When she had checked the doors to see if she could get out, for now she was getting a bit frightened, they were locked. In a state of hysteria, she began to run. With her arms outstretched and her whimpers filling the terrifying stillness, she would smack into walls and turn corner after corner. Sara was sure she was going in circles. She just backed up against the wall, her chocolate eyes searching in the darkness, neither hearing nor seeing anything. She could only see black. Her chest heaved up and down rapidly, feeling as if she were choking, even though there was absolutely nothing to suffocate on. Her heart in her throat, she froze, she could feel that it was in the room with her. The presence was intoxicating. That was when the flash of white light came, and so overcome with fright, she passed out. The thing had come at her, the white flash of light had left, and stopped just inches from her face, its breath on her neck. No longer able to see it, but still picturing it, she could smell the reeking odor of its breath; the stench was that of cadavers and vomit.

And that was when she passed out.

'Keep your wits about you, keep your wits about you, just keep your wits about you,' she reiterated, her face still buried in her legs and her eyes squeezed shut. Sara was now speaking loudly, as to cover any sounds that might make her bladder let go. She probably looked like a crazy person, her back up against a wall and her face in her legs, talking to no one.

She needed to get out of there, one way or another. It was going to come for her again she knew it. Sara stood; her eyes still closed tightly, her arms outstretched, and she started running. She didn't know where she was going, or how close objects were, but she didn't care, all she cared about was her life and getting out there as fast as she could.

Sara ran for an eternity, straight forward, her hands slamming into walls, crying out each time. She turned a corner, and ran straight for quite awhile. That was when it happened. Through her eyes, she could see the white light again. It was back, and this time it was going to kill her. Sara pinched her eyes tighter and ran straightforward – hopefully it was like the ghosts in the movies that you could just walk through. She tried to have no fear, but her heard thudded in her chest as the white light stayed.

And she smacked right into it.

The light went away when she ran into it, her hands roaming around the thing's body. But the clothes weren't ripped, it was fully clothed, and was also wearing a jacket. Her hands stopped on its torso, and she looked up, her eyes opening. Joy exploded inside her the instant she saw who it was, her happiness better than anything she had ever felt in her life. She saw the face of Dean before her, the beam of the flashlight hitting his face enough to make out who it was. Sara didn't care if she hated Dean; she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her, happy to live through another scare.

Dean didn't know what to do. He thought scaring her would get her to leave, but all it did was made her cling to the two. Great. Now she was hugging him… was he supposed to hug her back? He didn't really like her that much. She almost came up to his shoulder; she was three inches too short, the side of her face pressed up against his chest. Dean looked back at Sam pleadingly, but Sam just shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes, and looked down at her. This was… awkward… All he could think of doing, besides hugging her back, was to pat her on the head. So that was what he did.

Sara felt the light taps on the top of her head. She grinned. He was so idiotic sometimes. She pulled away from him, looking over at Sam. Sam grinned at her. The light the flashlights created made it possible for her to see the two.

'Sara,' Dean started, 'Did you see something?'

'Yeah,' she didn't really want to think about it again. 'It wasn't something that walks around the streets everyday. I think we should just leave; you really don't want to see this thing. I know you've never seen anything like it.'

'I think you'd be surprised.' Dean said, passing her.

Sam walked up to her and pushed her to get in the middle of the two, and they all walked through the basement. 'We heard you scream,' Sam told Sara, 'What did it look like?'

'I didn't scream. And does it really even matter what it looked like? By the way, I really don't think iron bullets are going to kill this thing. It was… not normal. But anyway, I'm okay now, we can just run on outta here.'

Dean stopped, as did the other two, turning and looking at his brother. Sam asked her, 'You didn't scream?'

'No… Someone else must've screamed.' she shrugged.

Dean looked over, seeming disappointed and angry, 'Damnit, Sammy! We walked right into a trap!'

Sara raised her eyebrow. 'I think I missed something. Are you guys in here to kill something? Like I said before, iron bullets won't kill it, it's nothing like the Bunyip.'

'These aren't iron bullets.' Sam said, and she wheeled around to look at him.

'Aren't we mister artillery?' she said sarcastically. 'What the hell are we doing in here?' now she was getting irritated. These boys were hiding something big. 'I thought we were going hunting!'

'We _are_ hunting!' Dean shouted at her.

She turned her head to Dean, 'That wasn't any deer that I've ever seen. Seriously though, I don't even think there's a forest near here. Are you sure we're going hunting? You guys aren't wearing any of the regular stuff you have to wear.'

'Sara,' Sam began, crouching down to get to her eye level, 'This is what we do. We hunt things that aren't normal. What you saw was what we're looking for.'

She stared at Sam for a few seconds, and then broke out in a grin and chuckled lightly. 'Okay. Let's just get to the car. I think I've had my share of lies for the century.'

Sam groaned – he was getting fed up with her – shining the flashlight right into her eyes. 'We do this for a living, just go check our trunk.'

Sara shielded her face with her hand, her eyes watering madly. She didn't know what to say. She didn't really believe Sam, but he hadn't lied to her before – except for the fact that they were going hunting. Glancing from brother to brother, she uttered, 'Right.' sarcastically.

Dean grabbed her arm fiercely and dragged her around the basement with him, looking around wildly with his flashlight. Sam didn't know what was going on, but stayed alert behind them.

'Ouch! That hurts! Let go!' she complained, struggling to get out of his grasp. But he was adamant – he would not let go of her.

He stopped when his flashlight spotted ropes in the corner. Still holding onto Sara, he bent down and picked up the ropes, throwing them over to Sam, who caught them. Making Sara's back face him, he put her wrists together, and asked Sam to give him a piece of rope.

'What? Why?' he protested.

'She's going to be bait.'

'Bait?!' Sara asked frantically.

Sam reluctantly gave Dean rope. He tied her wrists together tightly, hearing her whine every so often about how much it hurt. Dean asked for more rope, and Sam obliged. He tied her legs together, binding them just as tight as he did her wrists. Picking her up and hoisting her over his shoulder, he had Sam move in front of him to look for stairs. They walked for a long time, searching for the stairs in the endless basement, but were in a small bit of elation when they came upon them.

Dean set Sara down, resting up against a wall. 'You don't know how heavy you are.'

Sara felt like kicking him where the sun didn't shine.

'Okay, so why did we look for stairs?' Sam asked his brother, inspecting the set of stairs with his flashlight.

'This is the plan. We put her at the top of the steps, and wait outside the door. When she gives us the cue, we'll open the door and kill the thing.' Dean explained, his hands on his knees.

Sara still didn't believe if the boys were telling the truth. All of this – the Bunyip, the ghost – had to be a dream. A freaky, strangely elongated dream that she would snap out of any minute now. There was a possibility that she had fallen into a coma while she was sleeping. She could be in that coma, in an endless dream. She just had to wait for the glorious moment when she woke up.

The girl didn't want to show it, but she was terrified. Even though she didn't believe the two, she still felt like something was going to be there, something was going to hurt her, and as her heart thudded against her ribcages, she knew she would have run off by now, but the ropes made escaping very difficult. Looking down at the floor, she exhaled and waited for the plan to go into action. God, she didn't want to do this.

Feeling herself being lifted off the ground and slung over Dean's shoulder once more, even more dread filled her. She didn't know how any more could possibly top onto all the other emotions that were jam-packed into her frail body. Her temples throbbed with the beat of her pounding heart, the feeling she got when she stood up too fast. These could be the last moments of her life, right now. Being hung over someone's shoulder like a slab of meat, tied up, insides burning with franticness and a horrible feeling of impending doom. The end of her life, her demise, was imminent.

Normally, tears would sting her eyes during a moment like this, but her empty soul was not prone to such sadness. No tears would come. Nothing was caught in her throat; she felt no sensation of warmth come to her eyes. Her whole being was ice cold inside; she could feel nothing but impending doom and dread. Now she understood the stupid cliché of 'Goodbye, cruel world…'

She rocked uncomfortably as Dean climbed the steps, not caring about the small girl on his shoulder. It didn't matter to her right now; these were probably the best she could get out of the last moments in her life. This place wasn't exactly a carnival. She was set on the third from the top step, and as the brothers passed her, not one said a word to her. Hearing a door open harshly, light surrounded her now, the light that went through the boarded up windows upstairs felt nice. It was too dark down there. She heard a few things clinking and clanging together, the boys not even bothering to talk to her. Maybe they knew she was going to die, too. Then she heard, 'I almost forgot. Sam, you can do it. I'll get things ready up here.' Sara didn't know what Dean was talking about, but she heard Sam come over to her, untied the hand restraints, and crouched down on the stair below hers. They were eye level, Sara avoiding Sam's eyes as much as she could. Looking down at his hand, she noticed Dean had given his brother a sterling silver knife, in which the blade was flipped out.

That was when she met his eyes. They locked in a stare that only lasted a few seconds, if that, but Sam's caring eyes were probably the best things she could have right now. She was going to be staring Death in the face soon, but at least she would get to see her family.

He tore his eyes away from hers, picking up her hand and touching the blade to her palm. Sam slid it across gently, blood slowly oozing from the fresh new cut. It stung immediately, the existing dirt on her hand getting in the newly cut flesh. She creased her brow at the burning sting she felt in the center of her hand, and stared down at the red. When Sam dropped her hand, he didn't say anything yet again and passed her, tying her hands once more, and going back out the door. As she felt the blood trickling down her palm, she realized now what the cut was for. Before, when she was coming in, she had cut her thigh on a sharp object, and the blood that was coming out of her hand brought it together. When the ghost smelled blood, it arrived. 'It's going to come any second,' Dean told his brother, closing the door behind Sara.

And when she smelled the horrible reeking smell that overcame her thoughts to just sit there drifted to her nostrils, she writhed in the ropes wrapped so tightly, trying to get out.

'Wait! What's the cue?' Sara asked herself frenetically, suddenly remembering Dean had left out that important detail. It loomed closer, even in the dark she could feel it getting closer to her. All sense of living through this was gone now. They had probably already gone. Sam and Dean weren't at the other side of the door; they left her there to die with the ghost coming nearer and nearer. At the top of her lungs, she screamed, 'CUE! CUE, CUE, CUE! ABRA KADABRA! OPEN SESAME! FOR GOD'S SAKES, CUE!' Sara hoped, prayed, she wasn't screaming to no one. She prayed with her life that someone heard her… that the brothers were still standing there…

And suddenly the door burst open and light flooded in all around her. The ghost was not even a foot from her, staring into her brown terrified eyes. Before her pupils could adjust to the sudden change of light, she heard two loud _BANG_s and the rotting figure was no longer there, it had succumbed to only dust at her feet.

Sara barely took two exasperated and sporadic breaths, her eyes focused on the dust lying on her sneakers, before everything got dark again around her. She felt herself going limp and every particle in the air stopped as she passed out.

**A/N:** Okay people, please **please**_ PLEASE_ review, it's the only way I'm going to keep posting chapters. If I don't get feedback then I lose the fire to write the story.


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